


When in Rome...

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguing, Confrontations, F/F, Magic, Post-Episode: s13e21 Beat the Devil, Sassy Rowena MacLeod, Ungratefulness, Witches, entitlement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Your and Rowena’s moment of fun is ruined when an alternate world hunter starts making unreasonable demands
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	When in Rome...

Things were hectic at the bunker, and if it wasn't for your and Rowena's tiny, same-private space, you would have gone insane. The two of you settled on a pair of chairs by the library, invisible to the swarm of people around you. It was more for your benefit like hers; Rowena could handle herself amongst people just fine, having done so for almost four hundred years.

As an introvert, you were finding it difficult. There was too much noise, too many people. They were like ants, swarming you, surrounding you, technically harmless but not enough for you to let your guard down. They may not have wished you harm, but the majority of them were still hunters. As such, they couldn't be trusted. Just because Rowena had helped them didn't mean they posed no threat. The two of you were witches, and that was enough for them to want you dead.

You were supposed to be on your way home by now. With the rift taken care of and everyone back home and safe, you and Rowena had done your part. But there were still a few things the Winchester needed help with and Sam had asked Rowena to stay for a while longer. She agreed, and thus you were stuck. You weren't going to leave her here alone, the only witch in a sea of humans. Leaving her alone had gotten her brutally tortured and murdered by Lucifer the year before, and from then on the two of you had agreed to stick together as much as you could. Where one went, the other followed.

"You have to work on your pronunciation," Rowena said. You were having difficulty with a spell and had asked her to help you out. Anything to pass the time.

"Gaelic is hard," you said.

"It is," Rowena agreed, sympathetic. She was a great teacher, endlessly patient, quick to calm you down every time you got into one of your _I-quit_ moods. "Would it help if I wrote down the phonetics for you?"

"Yes, please!"

She smiled. "Alright." You handed her the piece of paper the spell was written on. She took a pen from the coffee table and started scribbling on the back. "When we get home, we're starting Gaelic lessons again."

"Okay." You'd handled Latin just fine, but could never grasp Gaelic. It was a difficult language to learn. Pronouncing it was all but impossible. "There's a language school in town. Maybe I should sign up for Gaelic lessons."

Rowena looked at you, deadpan, serious. "Don't insult me."

You grinned, which prompted a smile to break free on her mouth. "Just kidding. You're a good teacher."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just good?"

"Great. Awesome. Gorgeous." Her face lit up; the way to Rowena's heart was through flattery. "Sexy. Lovely. Adorable."

"Adorable?" she questioned.

"Most adorable." You booped her nose, and she scrunched up her face, confirming your words. _Adorable. Adorablest._ Goodness, you loved her! "God, you're so precious!"

She playfully smacked your arm, cheeks flaming, red as her hair. "Am not."

You pouted. "Ow! No violence!"

"Then behave."

"So mean."

"That's right. I'm mean. Not adorable, and certainly not precious."

"Sure." Your tone was dripping with sarcasm. Rowena rolled her eyes with all the drama of a theater actress, a practiced, seasoned one. "Think I'll ever be as powerful as you?"

The thought came to you out of nowhere, though it wasn't the first time you'd pondered it. Rowena was a powerful witch. One of the most powerful witches in the world. Was it possible for you to acquire such power? Birth hadn't gifted you nearly half of it, but was it possible to amplify what you had? Was practice and studying enough? Or would you forever be a regular witch, no different than any other in the crowd?

You were okay with being ordinary, but it would be a lie to say you didn't aspire to be like Rowena. The woman could make gods fall to their knees, could make archangels tremble in their vessels. One word, and what she wanted was hers. Who wouldn't want to be like her?

Many witches would kill for a chance to study under her. You were dating her. All you had to do was ask, and all her knowledge, gathered through centuries of hardship, was yours.

You just needed skill to harness it.

"Aye," Rowena said without a moment's hesitation. Completely and utterly sure of her response, as if you'd asked if the sky was blue or if bees made honey. She just knew it, and she was certain of it, and it made your heart swell up with warmth. "You're a natural-born witch, just like me. You're skilled, and you work hard." A smirk grazed her lips. "You have a great teacher, after all. I don't see why you wouldn't be like me. Power is taken, not given. Remember that, dear. I was born with potential, just like you. It was up to me what I did with it, and I made the most with it because why wouldn't I? It was mine for the taking."

She made it sound so easy. So effortless. Want? Take. Have. The end. If only you were gifted with such confidence. If only you were so sure of your capabilities. You weren't a bad witch by any means, but your power was still raw. Untamed. You still struggled. In comparison to Rowena, you were a peasant.

To be fair, almost every witch was a peasant in comparison to her, but that didn't make you feel any better about yourself.

"You're really good at pep talks, you know that?" you joked, trying to lighten the glum mood that befell you. No use beating yourself up over something trivial. After all, it was just magic. _Your_ magic, that worked perfectly fine the way it was. However much you wanted it, you didn't _need_ limitless power. You weren't helpless; you could defend yourself if you were in need. You could fight. You could have fun. So what if you couldn't seek out and kill reapers? It didn't make you any less of a witch, no matter what your insecurities said.

"Shut up!" Rowena said, a traitorous giggle — one of the most adorable, precious sounds she could make — escaping her mouth.

"You should pursue it as a career," you teased.

It earned you a glare that had to have killed before. The kind that scared everyone but you because you knew her enough to know she was all bark and no bite. A yappy puppy that loved to put on an act in attempts to be tough, all the while melting into a puddle at the softest touch.

You pecked the tip of her nose and blew her a kiss as she shot you another glare. The corners of her mouth twitched; she kept it shut, lips a thin line, giggles begging for freedom that would never come.

"You know what my favorite spell is?" Your eyes wandered to a bookshelf across from you, right behind Rowena. You focused on the spine of a random book; a leather-bound one, with neat writing and intricate lines trailing around the letters. As old as you and Rowena combined, possibly older. Beautiful in that way old, well-loved books were. Your hands rose up in the air, palms open, and you said, _"Liber."_

Magic stirred within you, a warm, comforting rush of delight, and the book shot out from the shelf, straight into your waiting hands. Your mouth dissolved into a grin as you clutched the book to your chest, heart brimming with pride, with wonder. No matter how many times you performed the same spell, it never ceased to amaze you.

"Lazy-arse," Rowena commented.

You shrugged. "Why should I get up when I can just say the word — _Liber—"_ you glanced at another book, and it, too, jumped into your hands "—and _voila!_ It's here."

Rowena shook her head. "I should have never taught you that spell."

"Hey!" you protested. "I'm a practical girl."

"You're a _lazy_ girl."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"It's fun and you know it! _Liber!"_ This time it was a journal, written almost a century ago by some Man of Letters. You set it on your lap, atop the other two books. Rowena couldn't help it — she chuckled, and you shot her a smug glance. "Told ya."

"It's not—"

"Could you stop?"

The two of you looked up, startled by the unknown voice. A man was staring at you. He was tall, hair a scruffy brown, clothes hanging on him like curtains — Sam and Dean's borrowed flannel, too big for his skinny frame.

Rowena frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"Could you stop doing magic?" His voice was strained. Politeness as fake as the smile he was trying to put on. _"Please."_

"We're not doing anything bad," you said, baffled by the request. Unsure how to approach it. "We're just having fun."

He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Swallowed again. "Could you _please_ not do it?"

Why did that _please_ sound so accusatory? So insulting? As if he wanted to call you a bad word and opted for a pleasantry instead, hoping you wouldn't notice.

"Why should we not?" Rowena asked, daring him to shed the mask and say exactly what was on his mind. Challenging him the way she always did, never one to back down.

"It's making me uncomfortable," the man said.

Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"We're not doing anything to you," you said. You didn't even know his name. Up until now, you'd never seen him before in your life. Plenty of people had rushed in through the gate; you were more focused on Rowena, tired, at the end of her strengths, than the swarms of strangers bursting in through the rift.

"I don't like magic."

The man's cheeks flushed, a faint tint of shame staining them red. It was hard to believe he had any shame, saying things like that. For all you knew, it was as fake as everything else about him.

"Or witches." Instantly, pulling on a ridiculous smile, he added, "No offense."

People always said that, as if the phrase somehow made the blatantly offensive thing less offensive. As if it made it okay just because someone said (and lied through their teeth) they didn't mean it.

You stared at him, flabbergasted. Rowena's face was the picture of offense, but there was a flicker of amusement in the small smile on her mouth. She'd heard it all before. All the worst insults, she knew by heart. Nothing surprised her anymore. The audacity of the man, though, made her want to curse him right then and there (you could see it in her eyes, the desire to let her magic roam free, to unleash it upon him), but she kept herself in check. No need to make a scene — yet — over an insolent man.

"I don't mind you… doing whatever it is you do," he said. "Just, _please,_ don't do it in front of me."

"Then don't look," Rowena said simply.

He tilted his head. "What?"

"If our magic bothers you so much, don't look at it. Surely you are able to look away?"

A nervous smile. "In my world, _witches—"_ the word was spat out as if it were dirty, foul "—don't hang around hunters. And they don't use their magic around us, if they know what's good for them."

Was that a threat?

"This isn't your world, is it?" Rowena said, cold as ice. Tone a thinly-veiled threat.

"I'm just saying I'm not used to seeing magic being used so openly," the man said with an innocent shrug.

You couldn't resist a retort. "And we're not used to being threatened so openly." Two could play this game.

"I'm not threatening you."

"Yes, you are." You weren't going to back down, either. Rowena had taught you well. Alone, you would have cowered, maybe ran away, but with her there, you had nothing to fear. She wouldn't let anything happen to you. She wouldn't let a stranger — an ungrateful hunter — lay a finger on you. "Leave us alone."

He held up his hands, a feigned surrender. "I'm not doing anything to you. I just want you to stop using magic around me."

Looking him straight in the eyes, you held out a hand to your side and exclaimed, _"Liber!"_ The book — a random paperback — flew perfectly into your palm. Not taking your eyes off the man, you laid it on the others in your lap. _Does this bother you?_ your gaze said. Challenged. Dared. _Does it make you uncomfortable?_

It apparently did for he shifted his feet awkwardly and took a large breath. _"Please,_ don't do that. I don't want you any harm. I just don't want to be around magic."

"You're the one who approached us," you pointed out.

A gulp. "Like I said, in my world—"

Rowena cut him off. "Shall we find you a way to go back?"

He stared, baffled. "What?"

"You seem to miss your world. Would you like us to help you go back?"

"Wha-that's not what I'm saying!"

"Witches fear you in your world, do they not? Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't… that's not what this is about. I don't want you to fear me!" The tone of his voice, his demeanor, the flicker in his eyes said otherwise. "Just stop using magic! How hard is that?"

"You didn't mind our magic when it kept the rift open for you and your people to come here," you said. "Maybe we should've let it close and left you in that war-torn shithole."

A vein on his forehead popped, face flushing an angry red. "I didn't ask for your help!"

"Why'd you come here, then? You could've stayed home. No magic there."

"You don't know what it's like to see everything you've ever known destroyed. The people you grew up with dead. Your home shattered to pieces."

"Sounds horrible." It truly did. "Seems you're better off here. With witches."

"I'm not used to your kind."

"Get used to us, then."

"Your kind is _unnatural."_ He spat it as if it were filth.

 _There we go._ "So you _do_ have a problem with witches." Surprise, surprise.

"I don't want you here," he said. As if his opinion held weight. As if he had any say in the matter.

You couldn't hold back a laugh. "Sam and Dean are our friends." Acquaintances? Allies? Who was counting anymore? "We've been here long before you. If that bothers you, why don't _you_ leave? You're living here for free. You're wearing Sam and Dean's clothes and eating their food. You don't get to make any demands."

"Who are you to talk to me like that?" he spat. "You're just a _witch!"_

"And you're an ungrateful bastard!"

"Watch your mouth!"

"Or what?" Rowena said. "What are you going to do, _boy?"_

The hunter leaned in as if to whisper a secret. "Sam and Dean won't always be around."

"That's right," Rowena told him, looking him straight in the eyes. Making her own threat clear. "They won't."

He laughed. "You're pretty feisty for a witch. Knew a few of them just like you. At the end, they were all begging for mercy."

"I don't beg."

"Yet."

"Leave us alone!" you shouted, purposely loud, having had enough of this. You'd agreed to stay on Sam's behest, but you'd never signed up to be harassed. You weren't going to let some lowly hunter threaten you.

All the chatter in the Bunker instantly stopped. Heads turned your way. Eyes observed you, curious, confused. The hunter froze at the sudden attention, caught off guard.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, walking over.

"This guy's threatening us," you said.

"What?" He eyed the hunter, who put his hands up.

"She's lying."

"She is not," Rowena said. "This nit won't leave us be."

"Is that true?" Sam asked him.

The hunter sighed. "They were using magic. I just told them to knock it off."

"We were just having fun," you said.

"And I told you I don't want you to use magic around me!"

"It was a simple bloody spell to pick up books!" Rowena snapped. "We weren't hexing anyone!"

Sam looked from the two of you over to him. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is, they're witches!" the hunter said. "How can you let them into your house?"

"They're friends," Sam said defensively.

"They're _witches."_ His face twisted with disgust. "And they were using magic. Doesn't that bother you?"

"No. They weren't doing anything wrong."

"Their entire existence is wrong."

"Fuck you!" you spat.

"Okay," Sam said, holding up his hands. "Okay, let's all calm down."

It was easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being insulted.

"I want them gone," the hunter said.

Sam turned to him. "They're not going anywhere. Like I said, they're friends, and we need them."

 _"I_ don't need them."

"That's fine, but this is Dean and I's home. They're welcome here." He pointed up the stairs. "If you don't like it, there's the door."

Warmth swelled in your chest. Rowena smirked victoriously.

The hunter was flabbergasted. "Are you seriously siding with witches over a hunter?"

"Yeah," Sam said without a flicker of a doubt. "I am. They've helped us a lot. If it weren't for them, the rift would have closed and none of us would be here right now. I understand your reservations, but they're not bad people."

"You're crazy! This world is crazy!" Sam shrugged. The hunter rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself. I'm not hanging around witches."

He slid up the stairs and slammed the door on his way out so hard the walls shook. You sighed in relief. Good riddance.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich in his hands.

"One of the other world guys didn't like our rules," Sam said.

"Sucks to be him," Dean commented, took a bite out of his sandwich, and went back to the kitchen.

"You guys okay?" Sam asked.

"Aye," Rowena said. "A wee hunter doesn't scare us."

"Sorry about that. Most of the guys are really nice. I swear, this won't happen again."

You sure hoped so.

"Don't worry about us, Samuel. We're big girls."

You nodded, though it felt nice to know the Winchesters — for once in your life— were completely on your side.

"You're always welcome here," he said.

"We know," Rowena said. "Do you happen to have any more of that scotch from last night?"

Sam laughed. "Sure. I'll get you some."

"It would be much appreciated."

You quirked up an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "That nincompoop exhausted me. I need a drink."

You supposed that was fair. Maybe you could snag a glass as well.

And, hopefully, you could head home soon.

As welcoming as the Winchesters were, there was no place like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
